


A Nightmare's World

by AThousandWishes



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AThousandWishes/pseuds/AThousandWishes
Summary: Written in 2006.  Takes place in the year hiatus that the Bats took before One Year Later.In another world, Bruce Wayne's life is a literal nightmare...
Kudos: 3





	A Nightmare's World

A Nightmare's World  
1/1  
Rated: PG-13  
  
  
  
Alex Luthor sent the worlds colliding and soon history began to  
rewrite itself in the most horrid fashion…  
  
*****************  
  
It was Halloween…and his eighth birthday! His parents had taken him  
to see Zorro. Bruce decided it was the most awesome movie ever  
made! Traveling back to the family vehicle through a familiar short-  
cut, the young boy darted in front of his parents and continued  
talking non-stop about their latest adventure.  
  
"And did you see the way he could switch the sword to his other  
hand? Like this!" Holding an imaginary sword, Bruce slashed the  
air and lunged forward. "Take that, you evil doers!"  
  
Laughing quietly at their son's antics, Thomas and Martha Wayne  
walked hand in hand.  
  
"All right, that's quite enough now. People live in those buildings  
and might be trying to sleep, son," Thomas admonished lightly.  
  
"But Dad! Did you see…?" Bruce stopped when a shadow fell over  
him. Slowly he turned around. "Tommy Elliot? What are you doing  
here?"  
  
His classmate grabbed hold of Bruce's shirt and pulled him closer,  
eyes twinkling with a mad light. "It's time," he whispered  
fiercely. "Time to meet your destiny!"  
  
Bruce felt Tommy press something cold and metallic into his hands.  
Confused, the boy drew his eyes to the object. "A gun?" Shaking  
his head, Bruce demanded, "Tommy, what am I supposed to do with a  
gun?"  
  
"Let the gun tell you," Tommy intoned, as he stepped back into the  
shadows and disappeared. "The gun knows your destiny."  
  
For a few seconds, Bruce turned the gun over in his trembling  
hands. Something was wrong. His gut told him that this should not  
be happening.  
  
"What is that, Brucie?"  
  
Twisting to face his mother, Bruce lifted the gun toward her and  
began to say, "Tommy gave it…"  
  
But his next words were lost in a loud and fiery explosion. The  
young boy watched in horror as a crimson stain began to grow on the   
front of his mother's yellow bodice. Her blue eyes gazed at him in  
dismay. Then in a second explosion, her body shattered into a  
million bloody pearls that dropped and rolled across the alley floor.  
  
Bruce recoiled in horror at the scene. What had just happened? His  
own mother had just…  
  
"What have you done?" Thomas Wayne questioned in an equally shocked  
voice.  
  
"I…I didn't mean to…it just happened." Dazed, Bruce held the gun  
out to his father and pleaded, "Please, take it! I don't want it  
anymore!"  
  
However, just as his father reached out for the gun, the alley was  
rocked by another great explosion. Blood splattered across Bruce's  
face, causing him to close his eyes and turn his head away.  
Hesitantly, he dared to open them and immediately wished he had not.  
  
There lay both of his parents in an oddly familiar scene on the  
filthy alley pavement. Blood pooling out from under them, pearls  
scattered between them, vacant eyes staring up into the thundering  
night, and a numb emptiness surrounded the boy.  
  
Bruce fell to his knees. Was this his destiny? Staring at the gun  
in his bloody and trembling hands, he again had the bizarre  
sensation that something was terribly wrong. Of course it was  
wrong! His parents were dead! He had killed them! With his own  
hands!  
  
A fear like he had never known enveloped him. In great disgust,  
Bruce threw the gun as far as he could down the alley. Pivoting, he  
ran as fast as his legs would go in the opposite direction. He did  
not know how long he ran, but it must have been a very long time…  
because he found himself at the front door of his family's ancestral  
home, Wayne Manor.  
  
Busting inside, Bruce began to yell through the hall, "Alfred!  
Alfred, I need you! Please, you've got to come help me!"  
  
"Whatever is all the fuss?" Alfred stepped out of the kitchen into  
the long hallway. "Master Bruce? Where are your parents? You are  
all extremely late…"  
  
"Oh Alfred!" Bruce fiercely hugged the butler's waist and began to  
cry. "It was awful! Tommy gave me a gun, and I tried to give it to   
Mom and it just went off! And then I tried to give it to Dad and it  
happened again! And I was so scared that I just ran all the way  
here! Please, you've got to help me!"  
  
"Oh my word!" Prying the boy away from his body, Alfred tsked at  
the sight before him. "Master Bruce, I am so terribly sorry, sir.  
You know I would assist you in whatever way I could…however…well,  
unfortunately, my boy, there is nothing that can be done. You see,  
their blood is on your hands."  
  
Raising his hands eye level, Bruce cried out in terror. Bright red  
blood dripped off his fingertips and ran down his palms. "NO! Get  
it off! Somebody please help me get it off!" In an instant, the  
boy was down in the cave's bathroom facilities, scrubbing his hands  
at the sink to no avail. The water could not wash it all away and  
soon the sink was running over with the crimson liquid.  
  
"That's not going to work, you know."  
  
Startled, Bruce jerked his head around. "Robin?"  
  
The young hero stared sympathetically down at the little  
boy. "Bruce, I've come to warn you."  
  
Perplexed, Bruce questioned, "Warn me about what?"  
  
"Dude, you've goofed-up worse than a sidekick this time! He's mad…  
real mad. And now he's looking for you!"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The Bat," Robin whispered conspiratorially. "You of all people  
should know that the Bat does not tolerate murderers."  
  
"But…but I didn't mean to! It was an accident!" Bruce grabbed  
Robin's arms and shook him hard against the cave's walls. "You know  
me better than that! I could never hurt them! I could never have…I   
would never! Do you hear me? Never!" He kept banging Robin as  
hard as he could against the rock interior. "Never! Never! Never!"  
  
"Bruce…"  
  
The weak voice stopped him from his tirade. His eyes finally  
focused on Robin, who lay beaten and bloody at his feet. "No!"  
  
Robin lifted up a trembling hand and choked out through blood and  
cracked lips, "Bruce…blood is on your hands…"  
  
"NO! It's not true! Say it's not true! Say it!" Bruce slammed  
his fist on Robin's chest.  
  
"What is that, Bruce?" Robin pointed a frail finger towards the boy.  
  
Bruce glanced down and saw a blood soaked crowbar in his drenched  
hands. The world spun crazily out of control. "It's all wrong.  
This isn't happening. It's not true. I didn't…I couldn't…I  
wouldn't…"  
  
With a final gasp, Robin's hand dropped to his side, and Bruce knew  
that the Batman's sidekick had become another victim of the night.  
Despondent, the youngster stumbled out of the cave's hidden entrance  
and into Robinson Park. He did not know how long he weaved through  
the grassy hills and wooded area. However, he slowly became aware  
that he had now entered the busy city sidewalk and was approaching a  
row of recognizable townhouses.  
  
"Commissioner Gordon! Jim! He'll know what to do," Bruce assured  
himself. Dashing toward his friend's door, the boy slammed into  
someone and was knocked off of his feet. Craning his neck to look   
up, he gasped in shock. A peculiar clown held out his hand to offer  
Bruce some help. Cautiously, he reached out and accepted.  
  
A high pitched and extremely chilling laugh echoed from the  
clown. "There, there little laddie! No harm done. In fact, you  
are just the tyke I was hoping to see."  
  
"I…I am?" Bruce felt very ill at ease.  
  
"Of course! I have something that belongs to you." Reaching into  
his purple jacket pocket, the clown pulled out the very gun that  
Tommy Elliot had given to Bruce earlier in the evening. "You seemed  
to have dropped this lovely revolver and I have been trying to  
return it to you all night."  
  
Before he could protest, the clown shoved the gun into his hands and  
disappeared into the night. Bruce was at a loss what to do. He had  
to get rid of that gun! It was evil! It was cursed! He was cursed!  
  
"What is that, Bruce?"  
  
He knew that voice. "Barbara." He had to stop her from getting too  
close. "No, don't come near me!"  
  
"Oh Bruce quit being so juvenile! Let me see what you're holding."  
Barbara's strong hands were already on his shoulders spinning him  
around.  
  
"Please don't…"  
  
An explosion ricocheted down the city street. Barbara's body lay  
sprawled out, bloody, beaten, and naked.  
  
Devastated, Bruce gaped down at the young woman and felt the gun  
slip from his hands and land with a thud on the pavement at his  
feet. Not again. It could not be happening again. A sudden flash  
of light brought his attention up to a crowd of reporters and  
photographers now scrambling for the best shot of his injured friend.  
  
"Bruce! How does it feel to know that all of your friends and  
family…every one you love is dying at your hands?" An attractive  
red-headed reporter stuck a microphone in his face.  
  
"I….uh…"  
  
Another reporter, a muscular man with glasses and a Daily Planet  
name tag reading `Clark Kent,' stepped forward. "Is it true that  
all of their blood is on your hands?"  
  
"No!" Spinning on his heel, Bruce fled from his antagonizers.   
Once again, he had no destination, just a desire to escape this  
terrible night and its persistent curse. Soon enough, the boy found  
himself at the Gotham City Fairgrounds. A circus tent towered over  
the landscape inviting both young and old in to see the entertaining  
spectacle.  
  
With wide-eyed amazement, Bruce sat down on the front row right  
below the trapeze wires. As the circus began, he was gasping at the  
marvelous turns, flips, swings, and almost inhuman stunts of the  
Flying Graysons, the famous aerialist family. A stab of jealousy  
overwhelmed Bruce as he watched the loving expressions passed from  
the youngest member of the troupe to his parents.  
  
With barely concealed envy, Bruce thought that he would do almost  
anything to have that love back…the love of his parents. Then a  
sudden scream brought him back to the scene before him.  
  
"NO! MOM! DAD!"  
  
In dismay, Bruce watched as the man and woman fell from the high  
wire and crashed into the sawdust below.  
  
Questions soon filled the stands.  
  
"How did it happen?"  
  
"Look! A wire's been cut!"  
  
"It had to have been sabotaged."  
  
"Did anyone see who did it?"  
  
"Hey look at that kid! What's in his hand?"  
  
At first, Bruce thought maybe it was the other grieving boy that  
everyone was speaking of in shocked tones. However, he slowly  
became aware that all eyes were now focused on him. Gawking down at  
his blood-stained hands, Bruce saw a flask of acid. Shaking his  
head violently, he whispered, "No! Not again!"  
  
Throwing the flask down, he turned intent on getting as far away  
from Gotham as he could possibly go…  
  
"Wait!"  
  
The voice held such a note of grief and need that Bruce had no  
choice but to face its owner, Dick Grayson the Boy Wonder of the  
Flying Graysons.  
  
"Please, don't go. I know it wasn't you. You didn't kill my  
parents. You haven't killed anyone."  
  
Holding up his hands, Bruce argued through streaming tears, "But…I  
have…it's their blood…on my hands!"  
  
Dick stepped forward and examined the crimson hands. "You're  
wrong. This isn't their blood." Taking a water bottle and towel  
from a nearby roustabout, the circus boy gently washed off Bruce's  
hands. "It's your own blood…from all the pain this world has caused  
you. See? All better now."  
  
In awe, Bruce gaped at his clean hands. All that was left on the  
palms were several deep scars. "Thank you," he managed to choke  
out, as a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders.  
  
"Anytime, chum," Dick answered with a sad smile.  
  
"What are you going to do? Where will you go?" Bruce queried,  
spotting the remains of the other boy's parents broken on the ground.  
  
"I don't know. I don't have any other family left." Swiping at a  
few stray tears, Dick shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I'm an  
orphan."  
  
"Me too."  
  
Both sets of eyes connected at the same time and the boys suddenly  
smiled at each other.  
  
"I suppose we orphans should stick together." Bruce held out his  
hand in offering.  
  
Grasping a hold of his new found friend, Dick added, "Just like  
family."  
  
**************  
  
Somewhere on another world, Bruce Wayne felt a cool hand on his  
shoulder.  
  
"Come on, Bruce! Wake up already!"  
  
The constant drum of an engine and rocking motion brought his senses  
back to the present. He was on his private yacht with Dick and Tim  
for a year-long European vacation.  
  
"Bruce! Don't make me have to call Alfred and tell him you are  
sleeping way too much!"  
  
With a sudden burst of energy, Bruce pitched a pillow toward the  
offender. "I'll sleep as long as I want to, Dick. I'm on vacation."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm not sure a nightmare counts as a great way to relax,"  
Dick responded darkly.  
  
"Who said I was having a nightmare?" Bruce grumbled, as he sat up in  
bed and cast a glare at the know-it-all.  
  
Snorting, the younger man informed, "You were talking in your sleep…  
among other things."  
  
Blushing slightly, Bruce muttered in agitation, "I'll try to be  
quieter next time."  
  
"Hey," Dick started, placing a steadying hand on his adopted  
father's shoulder. "We're here on this trip to help each other work  
through some things. How can we do that if we're not able to even  
admit that we've had a nightmare or two?"  
  
Nodding his head, Bruce reigned in his wary nature. Sighing, he  
motioned for Dick to take a seat on a nearby chair. "It started out  
as a nightmare…but by the end…well, I had a friend to help see me  
through…"  
  
  
The End


End file.
